


Mimeomia

by Ysmiyr



Series: The Witcher Sensual Exploits [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Breathplay, Coming Untouched, Dacryphilia, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, F/M, Hair-pulling, Heavy Dom/Sub Play, Humiliation kink, I am ignoring everything i know to be true about witchers, Its just the first one have mercy on me, Leather Boots Kink, M/M, Mentioned feminization, Multi, Namely they blush and cry, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Petplay, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Shameless porn with some plot, Spanking, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Top Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Voyeurism, collaring, i hate the stereotype of top/bottom but its a bdsm thing here, no description of aftercare, only implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23059012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysmiyr/pseuds/Ysmiyr
Summary: Noun.The frustration of knowing how easily you fit into a stereotype.Geralt is well aware of the figure he cuts. He can see his own shadow work to hide the entire door of the tavern, can see his hands engulfing a mug of ale as if it's made for children, can feel the stare people give him and how much he always has to bend down to be eye level to them.Despite that, he really wishes someone would just push him around a bit. Or a lot.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: The Witcher Sensual Exploits [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657216
Comments: 49
Kudos: 606





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Guys. Guys look at what this fandom made me do.   
> I have never, ever written porn, ever in my life. Now i'm setting off to write a fuckton of filthy, filthy kinky sex and no one can stop me. Hope i can do this right.  
> First work of a series of one shots/ short stories. Hope you guys enjoy it !!

When Yennefer approaches him in the middle of winter in a Novigrad inn, Jaskier is half expecting to end the day digging his own grave.

What he doesn't expect however, is to end it sharing a small corner table with her and quite a few bottles of wine.

“While this has been very pleasant, I _know_ you are not here for idle chat and swapping blackmail material on Geralt.” His voice isn't slurred, but it is slower and he drapes himself across the table to say it. She lifts an eyebrow and quirks her lips in a smirk.

“Whyever not? Not many other people around who deal with him regularly enough for that.”

“Because it's you talking and you never want the simple things.” She blinks at him, eyes unmoving. Then, her smile comes back as an almost full one,

“Well. The simplicity of what I want depends largely on you, bard.”

“Me? What could I offer you, oh great sorceress of Aretuza, that you can't get yourself?” She leveled him with a very intense look, her eyes pools of a shady violet potion Jaskier found himself wanting to taste.

“Geralt.” A shocked silence followed, and she offered a life line to the inebriated bard, “Or rather, giving him what he wants but won't ask for and just cleaning up our ridiculous petty distaste for each other in the meantime.” Jaskier kept silent, looking at her. Then he threw himself to the back of his chair, squeezing his eyes closed.

“Yennefer, we already are in the best arrangement we _could_ be in. We fuck, you two fuck, and _we_ ” He gestured to both of them frantically, “ _Don't_ get involved.”

“And that's working well for us.” She points, but strangely there isn't any bite in the jab. Jaskier opens his eyes, clearer now than they were a moment ago, and looks at her with a tilted head. They are silent for a long time, staring into one another eyes without pause. 

“What do you have in mind?” Her smile is predatory, wicked, and sends a shiver down his spine. 

“We are already sharing him, no?” A nod, “Then what really is the problem with sharing him at the same time?” Is clear Jaskier is going to shout that they don't have sex, but something stills his tongue. He looks pensive before trying to speak again,

“None, I suppose. Assuming you won't try to kill me.” Her smile, if possible becomes even more satisfied.

“He leaves all the work to you, as well?” It doesn't escape his notice that she doesn't deny trying to kill him, but he's almost sure she's just... _joking_ , right then.

“If by work you mean he goes on his knees and do as I say, then yes.” A pause where Yennefer pushes her wine glass back to the middle of the table, and leaves her hand there.

“I don't think he's going to complain of kneeling for two, do you?” Jaskier beams at her.

“You know, your ideas aren't really that bad, witch.”

“And you aren't as stupid as I thought, bard.”

\---

It takes another month before their conversation comes to bear fruits. At the end of the season, Geralt is expected to meet with Jaskier in Flotsam in two week's time.

The only thing is that this time, Jaskier has a mission of leading Geralt to the directions Yennefer gave him to a house near Vergen, following the Pontar upwards; a house with a red slanted roof and a small green door.

Thinking of a reason good enough to go in that direction isn't the problem, however. Hiding his anticipation from someone that knows him so well and not having sex with the witcher meanwhile, _is_. He doesn't think Geralt is going to call him out if he says he has a surprise for him, but some part of Jaskier wants to _actually_ surprise the man, push him out the tracks and leave him so bewildered he shuts down.

In the end, Jaskier has the perfect plan in telling Geralt the truth. Or, the truth, but with a small twist he worries is a bit cruel but it's really the best he has.

“I have been called to a duke's private estate on the border with Kaedwen, but I'm not really sure what I'll be performing there. I heard Yennefer is nearby, so you can keep yourself occupied, I suppose.” Geralt's face does seem to fall, maybe even a little bit hurt, but Jaskier can't afford to look too closely into it for he would crumble and just tell Geralt the truth if the dejected look didn't leave the handsome yellow eyes. So he pretends he doesn't see, finishes packing up his things and they are off before the evening falls.

\---

They make good time to the house, and Jaskier almost passes right by it if Geralt didn't snap his head up and sniffles the air like a hunting dog.

“Something wrong, dear?” Geralt takes a while to respond, and when he does he sounds like he is in that dangerous place inside his own head, the one that is grey and purple and blue, that is distorted and mean and never lets him think straight.

“Yen. Is your estate too far away, or should I go and _occupy_ myself now?” And he doesn't even sound accusing, just resigned. Jaskier looks up and tries to not mess up the entire charade so close to ending it. On the distance, barely peaking through the dense trees there are splotches of red and a small, hidden, cobblestone path.

“Is she _here_?” He feigns surprise, avoiding thinking about _how_ the man doesn't seem to hear the distinct lack of noise for a duke's house who called for a bard, and jumps down his horse to go leading the way to the estate. “Surprises never cease! This _is_ my place, actually.”

Geralt doesn’t answer and a drop of sweat runs down Jaskier's spine.

He can feel how his hands tremble, and the bard doesn't want to chance Geralt smelling his trepidation so he does the only thing he can; He pulls out his lute and sings much more loudly than he should some of the new ballads he wrote on the long winter months, using them to also warn Yennefer they are close even if he's pretty sure she doesn't need his alarm.

He doesn't know what he's expecting when he knocks on the green door, but it sure isn't for it to open by itself with an ominous creak, giving way to a decrepit space that looked and smelled like it caught fire and it became a cemetery simultaneously.

“Well, this can't be good.” And he makes to go in anyway, because for some twist of destiny he trusts Yennefer enough for this, but Geralt holds him back, and Jaskier can hear the scratch of leather of his scabbards when he unsheathes his sword.

“Illusion” Is all he grunts pushing the bard behind him, nose flaring and dropping to a crouch. Jaskier looks up to the dark windows in annoyance and sighs with contempt.

Geralt goes in and promptly disappears when he crosses the threshold.

Jaskier panics and follows right after, eyes squeezing shut and hands reaching in front in hopes of feeling the witcher's armor, all coherent thoughts left on the stables near the front.

What he feels instead is warmth, and the door closing behind him.

“You two took your time.”

And when he opens his eyes, the sad looking house from before is gone, replaced by a richly colored living room with a roaring fire, plush red furniture and Yennefer draped over a high backed chair with a black silk dress tied at the waist. There is no one else around and she looks disgustingly satisfied.

Geralt is frozen on the spot, holding his sword _still_ only by so many years of practice.

“I said a portal would be faster.” Jaskier sneers, pushing forwards, leaving his lute on the big round table on the middle of the room, underneath a tall vase of roses, still feeling his heart rabbiting away inside his ribcage.

“He doesn’t like portals.” She says simply, and extends her hand to offer him a sip of her own glass of wine. _This_ is the dangerous part of their plan. The part that can go horribly sideways, the part where they have to be forceful but not enough for Geralt to feel cornered; where they have to engage with each other but not enough for Geralt to start thinking they would be better off without him and run away before they can get a word in.

Their eyes are locked while he accepts the drink, and he can tell she is just as nervous as he is.

“Are you going to stand there the entire day, Geralt?” She says, but her eyes take a moment to leave the bard. Jaskier drops himself to the other high chair next to her, looking over his shoulder with what he hopes translates to a reassuring smile. The witcher moves his eyes from one to the other and slowly sheathes his sword again. Even slower does he come forwards, stopping between their chairs. He makes no move to get closer, or to get off his armor.

Jaskier flicks his eyes to the witch briefly and can see her white pressed knuckles on the glass.

“Why do you look like we are planing to eat you?” Jaskier tries with a joke, but Geralt's slightly raised brows and uneasy stance says it was not well received. Yennefer snaps her fingers and the objects on the low table in front of the chairs vanishes. The table is sturdy, dark, and could hold someone siting on it even if that someone is made of forty pounds of leather and steel.

“I suspect that's because we _plan_ on eating him.” She gestures to the clean table, looking at the witcher. Offering him a comfortable space sans the risk of him misunderstanding their question as an ultimatum.

“Why don't you sit, darling? We would like to talk with you.”

Geralt doesn't move, eyes flickering between both of his companions like he wants nothing more than to run as fast as his legs can carry him. Jaskier steels his voice and holds onto the wrist closest to him.

“Sit, Geralt.” Geralt goes forward and sits.

Yennefer raises a brow, and waves her hand in a complicated motion to give Jaskier his own glass. He downs it in one gulp, but it refills by itself with no problem. Then she sits up straighter on the chair and looks like one might while in counsel with a king,

“Listen carefully witcher, for I will offer this _once_. Don't take us for fools who didn't think this through, or youths who don't already know you inside out.” Jaskier wants to flinch at her tone and her harshness but Geralt looks at her and seems to _listen,_ “And after all, isn't that different from what we already do.”

“What she means is that we would like to propose a new...arrangement. And that we will talk about it now, but you are under no obligations to say yes, and you won't loose what we have if you refuse. Understood?” Jaskier felt the need to soften the words and lay their idea out clearly, for Geralt already looked uneasy despite his attention.

“Answer the question, Geralt.” Yennefer pushed.

“Yes, I understand.”

“Ok, well, good.” One look at the witch and Jaskier saw how she was sitting back and letting him conduct this part of the conversation. He gave her a tiny nod, and she leaned fully against the back of the chair again. “How do you like our current arrangement?” Geralt didn't answer. “It's a conversation dear, meaning you need to talk as well.”

“I... Don't understand the question.” Jaskier sighed and patted his gloved hand softly.

“Do you like what you have with us now? A simple yes or no will suffice.”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to change something anyway?” The answer comes slower and whispered this time.

“Yes.” Jaskier and Yennefer exchange a hopeful smile, and Geralt looks like he is already _seeing_ in how many different ways they plan to leave him.

“And what would you like to change?”

“It's nothing important.”

“That was not the question.” Yennefer tutted. Geralt looked up quickly trying to gauge the other two, but soon he put his eyes down again.

“It would be nice if. I would like if I didn't had to...Choose one of you. At least once,” His speech picked up speed and he _really_ looked uncomfortable now, “It feels like I'm cheating, going from one to the other.”

Yennefer got up smiling and went to stand against the fireplace. Jaskier relaxed on the chair and sat forwards a bit more to reach Geralt's face.

“Why didn't you say so before?” Geralt shook his head, but Jaskier held it firm by the chin and tilted it up. “Sweetheart, you know we would never turn down a request without considering it. Why didn't you say something?”

“I'm getting a lot more out of this relationship than any of you. I didn't wanted to tip even more the scales.” Yennefer turned around sharply and her eyes met Jaskier's above Geralt's head. Her face held a mutated kind of the hurt Jaskier felt inside his own chest.

“Where did that idea came from, you moron?” She said, coming to rest her hands on his shoulders from behind. Geralt stayed stubbornly still and tense between them.

“It's just what I see.” He shrugs. “Doesn't seems fair to make you do one more thing you don't like.” He says to Jaskier this time.

“Whatever does that mean?”

“The... The control...thing. We never switched.” At this Jaskier starts laughing softly, from relief and from nerves alone, but takes the care to pet Geralt's hair so he doesn't think he's laughing _at_ him.

“Do I ever look like I'm not enjoying myself?”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Have you ever known me to do anything I _didn't_ thoroughly enjoyed?” Geralt haltingly shakes his head, “Then why would this be any different?”

“I just-”

“You only have to answer one thing right now, witcher.” Yennefer said, voice low, “One thing, based only on what _you_ want.” Jaskier nods, smiling gently.

“You can have us both. Do you want that?”

“Yes.”


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this is both the hardest thing and the easiest thing i ever written. It's a block on myself, probably, but i'm never too confident here. But anyway, here it is.  
> THought about making this just one long oneshot, but really i can't do it in one go, so. Hope it's good!

Yennefer had sent Geralt up with strict instructions to bathe, _thoroughly_ , put on the trousers she left on the bed for him and come back down. They are under no illusions he can hear them _conspiring_ if he tries, but Jaskier doesn't think Geralt is trying. He also thinks Yennefer didn't encase them in a spell specifically so Geralt has to make the effort to give them privacy.

“That went a lot better than I expected.” Jaskier said casually. She was pushing some furniture around, making to leave a large space right in front of the roaring fire, flanked by the chairs, an ottoman and with the low table in the middle.

“I'm not surprised he accepted; Just that he was so quick about it.” Jaskier shrugs off his doublet and rolls up his sleeves, pacing around the fireside.

“Do you have a plan, now?” Yennefer stops what she's doing to regard him closely.

“Don't you?”

“I prefer to not make assumptions.” Is the very deliberate, _neutral,_ response. She offers him an indulgent smile,

“Well, just go about your usual way. I like to watch, and I suppose that's going to be essential this time,, hm?”

“You like to watch?” It isn’t _really_ a question; his voice is low and teasing. She shoves him down onto the chair without any cruel sharpness and strides away unhurriedly to tweak with the curtains.

“And you like to perform. I _am_ expecting quite the show, bard.” Jaskier flushes then, out of pride and anticipation.

“I aim to please.” He murmurs almost on instinct. Yennefer cloaks the room in darkness for a second before lighting it up with lots of little candles strewn around. When she comes to stand next to him again, she is holding a green satchel, 

“I thought about this for a while, but it seems more fitting to bring it out now, don't you think so?” Jaskier hesitantly reaches up and the instant his fingers wrap around the irregular shape of the package he already knows what it is and doesn’t bother opening it.

“You _have_ been reading my mind, haven't you?” And surprising even himself, he doesn’t sound annoyed. Yennefer takes notice, sitting on the arm of his chair.

“I am trying not to.” Is the pointed response. Jaskier's laughter rings loud and contagious.

“Any particulars I should think about?” He asks instead, and Yennefer receives it as the gift it is; she jokingly asked for a performance, and the bard is clearly intent on delivering it.

“Surprise me.” She leans back against the backrest, still perching close to him and Jaskier finds he doesn't... fear it as he thought he would. Her eyes are hazy, she smells _incredible_ and he can _feel_ the warmth of her skin without even touching _._

“Your wish...” He begins but doesn't bother finishing. Yennefer seems very comfortable where she is, one arm holding her head up, the other holding her glass of wine, dress slipping leaving one of her legs bare. It is clearly a sight meant to arouse, to provoke and even _knowing_ she is painting this on propose he can't bring himself to care. He relaxes back on the seat and lets his eyes roam over her with intent. She offers him an unpleaceble smile and tilts her glass to the stairs.

Geralt had come down at some point between them settling down and Yennefer doing an impressive job of an entertainer herself. He is barefoot and shirtless, nothing on him besides the dark pants Yennefer told him to wear. His hair is still wet, clinging to his shoulders and the chill of the room makes his damp skin raise with goosebumps and his nipples peak. He stops at the foot of the steps, eyes looking at them for a second before flitting away and repeating.

“Come over, darling.” Jaskier asks flipping his hand over to the side. Geralt hesitates, shooting glances at the witch, but doesn’t resist much after the bard snaps his fingers once. He goes forwards and his legs begin to fold as if to go down on his knees beside the chair but he catches himself at the last minute. Yennefer laughs softly, eyes _gleaming,_ glued to the witcher.

“You poor thing, already going under, aren't you?” Jaskier coos, lifting one of his legs to the opposite armrest of the one Yennefer is occupying, leaving the other planted firmly on the ground. “Come on then, make yourself comfortable.” He tugs at the witcher's hand to the space he just created. Geralt shoots Yennefer one last glance before falling to his knees with a barely audible, relieved, sigh. He splays out his legs and leaves them open even as he rests his head on Jaskier knee. His expression contorts for a moment before going slack as most of the tension leaves his shoulders.

“ _There we go_.” Jaskier pets his hair softly, and takes a last swig of his wine holding the mouthful without swallowing. He leans forward, holds Geralt by the chin and passes the wine over more than kisses him. Geralt melts, dropping his hips to his ankles, mouth going slack and pliant under the onslaught. He drinks until Jaskier parts from him, licking the streams that escaped the witcher's willing mouth and leans back. Geralt lets his head fall back to where it was with a soft sigh, attention upon the bard unwavering.

“What do we want today?” Jaskier asks, considering, eyes shamelessly raking down the exposed parts of the witcher. Geralt turns to bury his nose on the crease of the bards knee and Jaskier looks back to the bag resting on Yennefer's lap, heat curling under his belly like a hot forge. “What do you say to being a good little pet today?” Geralt nods quickly, fingers tightening around the legs he is holding before letting go altogether and clasping them behind his back instead.

“ _Eager_ , are we?” Yens murmur isn’t startling, low enough to blend perfectly with the ambiance. Jaskier's laugh is warm and it echoes on the room.

“It has been a while.” Geralt hums under the hands on his hair, butting on them like an overgrown cat. Jaskier's cock twitches at the sight and he has to take a moment to keep the anticipation of everything from finishing him off too soon. He stares back at the molten gold focused on him and considers. “Give me a number, love.” Yennefer twitches on the chair, leaning closer.

“Three” Geralt answers because he knows he is supposed to, knows Jaskier loves when he obeys so readily and there is nothing on his head right now other than doing his best to meet every wish Jaskier utters.

“Three?” Yennefer moves her elbow to Jaskier shoulder and he doesn't expect it to hurt, _exactly_ , but he expects some kind of jolt, any indication that his body is startled. Neither come, and he even leans into it a bit.

“Hmm.” Is all Jaskier says, still petting the hair dampening his clothes. Yen makes a responsive sound, and slowly Jaskier lifts his leg from the chair and rests the heel of his boot on Geralt's shoulder. The witcher shudders from the motion, _violently_ , hands gripping tighter to his opposing wrists. The sight it makes is so picturesque it takes Jaskier just one second to make up his mind.

“She got a present for you, pet.” He knows she said she wanted to watch, but credit has to be given where credit is due. “What do you say, Yen? Does he deserve it?” He tests the nickname on his tongue, rolling it around and her smile is everything he needs to decide that _yeah_ , he likes it alright.

“He has been good so far, but I'm not sure. It _was_ expensive.” She says just as low as before, but Jaskier feels the full body shiver it causes on the witcher under his foot.

“It looks like it.” He didn't see it, but he is inexplicably _sure_ of that. “Maybe he should earn it then.”

“I think so, yes.”

Jaskier smiles then, not soft or gentle even though his hands are light and teasing still. He then opens his mouth to ask, but she already snapped her fingers and a cabinet to the right of where they are opens with a loud rush of air. The bard limits himself to raising one eyebrow, sure she _did_ read his mind now. She just sips her wine and taps his chest firmly.

“Go on then. Pick us a paddle.” He shoves the witcher lightly with his foot. Geralt knows better by now than to stand up when they play like this, so he pulls his hands forwards and crawls the few meters between them and the open cabinet, _slowly_ like Jaskier taught him to do. He is obscured by the square doors while he rummages around, and Jaskier spares the witch a glance to find her cheeks tinted a charming shade of pink and her eyes _scorching_ with the intensity of a general. The vigor of the heat dripping down his groin is surprising, but not... unwelcome.

He looks back in time to see Geralt bend down to pluck a red, broad length of leather between his teeth and turn around to crawl back. Jaskier has to admit with a sigh that _that_ is a sight that never gets old.

Geralt drops the paddle at the feet Jaskier still has on the ground and looks up at him expectantly. Half of him wants to deny the praise just to hear him whine, but finds he can't be that heartless.

“ _Good boy_.” The pats the witcher's cheek with firm fingers, and Geralt takes a long inhale. He pushes up from the comforting heat of his position on the chair and looks down on the kneeling witcher. He opens his hand, palms up, and Geralt scrambles to pick the paddle up again and drop it precisely on the middle of the bard's palm. Jaskier himself doesn't care a lick about so much details on a scene, but he finds they relax Geralt like not much else does. So he implements all manners of stupid and even useless rituals into their plays, and the more unreasonable they are, the happier Geralt seems to be to complete them.

But only when he glances down for a moment is when he notices the paddle has heart shaped holes on it; five of them running down the length of the leather. His eyes pause for only a second, keep from staring at Yennefer with a great feat of self control and just offers the man beneath him a fond smile.

“You sure about this one?” Geralt nods, pressing his lips together to avoid letting any actual words slip. Jaskier nods back, and goes to rest his foot on the top of the low table. The taps it twice with his heel and Geralt complies without him even having to say anything else. He goes forwards, lays atop it lengthwise, hands firmly folded like claws hooking on the opposite end of it. He spreads his knees a bit more, the fire casting his rippling muscles in sharp relief, and then he stills.

Jaskier spares Yennefer a last look because he does want to please, _damn him_ , and she has both legs bared from the slip dress, wine glass forgotten while she leans forwards on the chair he was occupying.

Interested is about right, he supposes.

“I _am_ curious, though.” He says turning back to Geralt. He walks until he is right behind the witcher, tapping the leather against his own leg trying to get the feel of it. “We never went into that before, is playing princess something you want, honey?” Geralt quivered, shoulders moving as if to arch back, but catching himself before moving any more. Jaskier kneels down, sliding is hands up the expanse of the witcher's back letting him feel the drag of the hardened leather.“We'll keep it, don't worry.” He murmurs. “We have a lot of time to look into that.” Geralt makes a low noise, something that could be a whine, could be a breathy _“please”;_ his hands are holding tight to the table, veins popping up like an intricate marble carving.

Jaskier leans forward, lets his chest cover Geralt's back for a moment; brief but firm, _present_ , just to remind the witcher that was about to follow was something done out of love, _adoration_ , and not out of genuine hatred. He puts the paddle balanced on the low of Geralt's back, a hand or so above his waistband and grabs at the hips instead.

“Now, here's how we do this, love. I am going to start on my hands, and if you are a very, _very_ good boy for me we can move to the paddle. But if you let it move from where it is, we move on to something else. Got it?” Geralt nods frantically against his own arm, “I didn't hear you.” Geralt promptly whines, short and choked, but its _loud_. Jaskier has to admit that this is one of his favorite parts, making Geralt _talk_ ; or at least forcing the witcher to find other ways to vocalize this wants.

“Good.” He says, and the whine comes lower but longer now. Jaskier slowly, _agonizingly_ _slowly_ , pulls the pants down just enough, leaving them laced tight against the meaty parts of his tights just under his ass. The sight makes his cock pulse eagerly and he forces a deep breath in, taking a moment to just squeeze the muscle in front of him, leaning down to bite lightly, and Geralt squirms _hard_ trying to get closer, almost dislodging the paddle.

“Oh, are you going to loose so soon?” Jaskier teases, and the noise Geralt punches out is tortured, _wanton_. He shakes his head a tiny bit and tried his best to be still. Jaskier knows that is the best ' _i will behave_ ' he's going to get, so he moves to kneel on the side of the witcher's legs instead and squeezes his ass digging nails in, intending to leave marks.

“I won't give you a number, darling.” The ashamed way in which Geralt tries to bury his face harder against the crook of his elbow is endearing, but his alarmed noise is like fresh meat to a starving man. Jaskier knows the humiliation is a part of the enjoyment as much as the praising, so he pushes more, “We are going until you _cry_.”

Geralt's noise of assent is already _dangerously_ close to it.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uh. Have a lot of time on my hands now, what can i say. I'm cheking off so many things that i'm worried i wont have kinks for the other of the series wtfffffff

The first slap comes stronger than the mild tap Jaskier was used to, cupping his hand to let it make more noise than damage, but to the almost transparent skin under it is enough to already flush it a pretty shade of pink. The second, third and fourth are all the same, and Geralt has no problem staying still. On the fifth Jaskier cheats, slapping one side lower while scraping his nails along the other cheek. Geralt whines, low on the back of his throat, still rough and deep and gravelly.

Jaskier gets up then, switches sides and loosens up his arm. Takes a _lot_ to get pain trough a witcher, and thankfully Jaskier never had to worry with hurting the man if he doesn't pull back. That doesn't mean he is willing to skip on the warm up, however.

By the twentieth slap, the noises Geralt is letting out are so frequent it sounds like a continuous string of babbling. By the fortieth, his shoulders are shaking and he tosses his head almost as much as he goes rock still.

“Look at you.” Jaskier murmurs, arms and hands _aching_ and _burning_. He takes a moment to press them against the glass he left on the table and comes back up front with it, bending down and tugging on the white hair just enough to get his attention. “Come on, drink a bit for me.” Geralt does his best to swallow without spilling, and only stops when the bard takes it away from him. His eyes are droopy but not hazy, and his cheeks are tinged an angry shade of red. There isn't any moisture on his eyes yet and part of Jaskier feels disappointed.

“Ready for more, love?” Geralt is frantically nodding even before Jaskier has stopped talking. “Ask me nicely.” He says because he _can_ , because he loves to see that mountain of a man reduced to wordless pleading just because he, a simple _bard_ , told him to.

Geralt buts his head against the hand still on his hair, moving until he can reach the naked wrist and licks at it with eyes squeezed shut and face coloring more and more the longer Jaskier lets him work, shame tightening it's grip on him.

Yennefer moves next, her presence impossible to forget but surprisingly easy to ignore until she rises. She goes to the back of the witcher's spread knees and Jaskier watches as she delicately picks up the paddle with _wonder_ and _want_ in her eyes. It doesn't come as a surprise to think it, but it strikes him more than it should seeing as he already _knew_ it, but. She looks _beautiful_ , standing there looking like there is a banquet in front of her; wild and hungry, more magic than woman.

He slowly gets up, patting Geralt's head as if shushing him and goes to join her, getting closer than he ever dared but still not touching.

“Do you want the honors?” He asks, because she is still impossibly focused. Yennefer turns her heavy violet gaze on him, and smiles full of mischief.

“Just a closer look, for now.” She sits on the table, pressed close against Geralt's hip, and offers the leather back handle first. “I want to see the marks before they disappear.” It is a request, and she says like the words are the most delicious thing she ever tasted. Jaskier shudders, and lets his fingers linger against hers.

“Don't worry.” He shakes his arm before turning sideways. “If it doesn't last for a few hours, I didn't do it right.” His arm comes down hard, landing squarely on the middle of Geralt's right cheek, four of the hearts already blooming. The noise the witcher gives then is _lewd_ , high and long and Jaskier can hear the surprise just as much as he can hear the plea.

He lands down six more, no pauses, and Geralt's noises are finally coming more breathy and uncensored. By the tenth, Geralt's body is telling him to move away, and right now he is on that space where he doesn't, necessarily, control what his body is doing, but he tries to be still anyway. He is writhing atop the table, alternating between arching his back shamelessly and curving it, trying to get away. Before Jaskier can say anything, before he can let out any scathing remark or swat him where it hurts more then it pleases, Yennefer moves her hands and pins Geralt's hips down, firmly.

Jaskier sees white for a second, and he really worries he did come in his pants before managing to gulp in a few deep breaths. Geralt's whimper is quiet in the loud racket Jaskier's heart is singing, blood rushing through his ears, but is drawn out and pained. Yennefer hasn't done anything else, but somehow Jaskier knows she is just as affected.

“Ten more, love.” He murmurs, voice rough, heavy. Geralt nods, dragging his head on the table lacking the force to even lift it. Jaskier switches his arm, and makes his very best to dole them as quick and as hard as he can, aiming to overlap all his hits. Geralt twists his shoulders, moves his hands, but his hips stay grounded under the witch's hands. When Jaskier strikes the last one, he doesn't need to look to know Geralt is crying, not with the high pitched noises and laden breathing and his own body is quivering with arousal. Yennefer moves her hands up the witcher's arms, light and teasing and _she_ looks eager _._

He throws the paddle behind him and drops down to bury his hands on the white tangled hair and uses it to haul the other man up on his knees and back to rest against Jaskier's body. His abused ass is feverish and Jaskier can feel the heat of it through his thick pants, can feel the uneven breathing and the choked off sounds of someone that is so out of it that they can't control even that.

“You took it _so well,_ darling. Such a new toy, and you did not disappoint; I'm so proud of you, dear.” Jaskier murmurs instead of moaning like his body wants to, petting the hair softly and holding the witcher still by the front of the trousers. “You were so good, _so perfect._ ” He goes on, the praising as much for Geralt, weakly whimpering on his lap, as it is for his own pleasure of soothing and caring for him.

“Indeed.” Yennefer's voice is warm and feels like honey dripping over their heads. She turns to the side for a moment, and turns back with the green satchel. “So good that _maybe_ you do deserve it.” She doesn't wait to take it out of the pouch, but she doesn't make any moves to actually give it over.

The collar she is holding is shiny, thick, but simple, a single ring dangling from the front, two indents on either side of it with words the bard can't read in low light. Jaskier feels the hitch in Geralt's breath, feels the shiver that runs down his entire body and responds with one of his own.

“You can talk, love. Go on, we need an answer for this.” He encourages, and a hiccup escapes the witcher before he can drag enough air in to speak.

“Please. _Please_ , I-” He twitches, head rolling back on Jaskier's shoulder. “I-. I ah. I want-”

“Say it clearly, witcher, or I may not understand you.” Yennefer is still high on her teasing, eyes unwavering and lively. Geralt takes a moment to to be able to react, swallows thickly before bringing his head up again with great effort.

“ _Please_ , collar me.”

There's a beat of complete silence and stillness. Then Yennefer gets up and close to loom over them suddenly very serious, and though she is right there, collar opened and reaching, she looks at Jaskier, questioning. The bard only drags both his hands to tilt Geralt's chin up holding the quivering man there, vulnerable and _desperate_ , and waits.

The moment the leather closes around his neck, the witcher sobs out a relieved sigh so sincere that makes Jaskier feel his heart squeezing and Yennefer chuckle, and the bard can feel the tears wetting his hands on Geralt's face.

“What do we say to the lady, pet?” Jaskier pushes, because manners are _important_ , because they would just lay there in a puddle in front of the fire if he let the atmosphere stay tentative and _heavy_.

“Thank you, mistress.” The shiver that wracks Yennefer's body then is _visible_ , and Jaskier knows that is not the first time she heard it, but today is different alright.

“Stay for a moment.” Jaskier says, pushing enough so Geralt knows to hold himself kneeling, and gets up to take in the scene.

Geralt's face has more color in it than ever, but the angry tinge from before is present only on his shoulders now. His head is hanging to the side, eyes cast down somewhere near their feet, wet with recent tears and red rashes on his chin where he scraped his face against the table. His hands are still obediently crossed over his back, and his trousers are tented obscenely.

“What am I to do with you?” Jaskier whispers, but in the charged silence that presses down upon them, it carries. Yennefer leans against him, slightly, but enough for him to freeze. She is half a hand shorter than he is, so her head rests on his shoulder with no further contortion.

“I think that after all of the preparation,” She begins, “You shouldn't leave him as is.”

“And what would you suggest then?” He hears the words and knows on some level that he spoke them, but Yennefer is warm, close and _not killing_ him. His hands shake when he brings them up around her back and rest oh so lightly against it. Geralt is finally aware enough to look a them, eyes moving up and down repeatedly as if he doesn’t really understand what he's seeing.

“The bed upstairs is big. Big, and equipped. Well, one of them is.”

Jaskier looks at her, and finds only clean heat on her gaze. Finds that she doesn't seem keen on getting away from him anytime soon either, and presses his hands more firmly against her back. Yennefer only dips her head towards the trussed up witcher before them.

“There is a perfectly serviceable floor right here, and a fully equipped cabinet too.” He pushes, just to see what she would do. Her smile is vicious.

“If that's what you are going for, shouldn't he be more brutalized by now?” The press of her hand to his front pocket flings his heart into overdrive and Geralt's low whimper makes him lightheaded. She retreats, going back to sit on the little table crossing her legs and pointedly resting her head on her joined hands. The pocket she had her hand into is heavy with a round something, but Jaskier really doesn't need to be told twice.

He turns back to Geralt, moves closer and lets his hands pull him to rest against his thigh. “Still with me, love?” The witcher nods, shuffling closer. “Give me a color.”

“ _White_.” His voice is low and raspy, almost but not quite the mellow tone he usually has when pushed too far into the head space where Jaskier can't reach him with words anymore. Jaskier is surprised more than anything else, but pats the cheek in front of him in acceptance anyway because he learned that Geralt only speaks in this space if it's the complete truth, or at least as truthful as he knows how to be.

“We _are_ eager, aren't we?” He says instead, eying the almost dried up tear tracks on his face. There were too many paths being given, and he didn't even knew what he wanted to _do_ right now. So it is as much to buy time as it is to reward the man when he plops down on the ottoman in front of Yennefer and lazily stretches out his leg, lightly pressing down on Geralt's left thigh. “How about a treat, hm?”

Geralt's head drops forwards and he weakly nods. Jaskier can only chuckle and nudges his foot, still inside the hardy leather of his new boots, squarely above the deformed bulge on the half pulled down pants of the witcher. “Go on then. Take what you need.”

Geralt shudders and his movements aren't hesitant at all in start to grind against the hard sole, face flushing again and mouth hanging open as if he can't quite close it. Yennefer twitches behind them and Jaskier knows her view is just as good as his right now.

Jaskier presses harder with his heel, turning upwards and Geralt's moan is breathy and _filthy_ , more suited to a whore than to a man that size. “Come on pet. You are so close, I can tell. What's taking you so long?” Jaskier's own voice is uneven now, straining to keep from joining in. “Is this too hard on you? Have you grown so accustomed to pampering you _can't_ take a roughening?” He teases, pushing just on this side of painful, watches as Geralt's face breaks open and his eyelashes moisten again. “Have I been so remiss with you, darling? Am I _lacking_ in keeping you in line?” He knows it's not that at all, knows perfectly well Geralt is probably happier now than he has been for months, but he also knows how Geralt likes to be _made_ to be everything he is _not_ when walking outside; How much of the witcher's pleasure comes from being forced into submission, onto his knees and out of his head.

Yennefer might use pain right off, whips and chains and novel contraptions, and he is sure that is a damn _sight_ to behold but.

There is just a very distinct pleasure in breaking Geralt down with words; of reaching inside his head and pulling out what he wants and shutting all other thoughts off so firmly that takes the man _ages_ to come back up from his haze.

“Have you gone mute, too? Have I broken you so much already?” He keeps on, and Geralt shivers, shaking his head.

“No, no, _no_.” He cries, for there is no other words for what those weak syllables are, and his hips speed up making a tight circle that sent the muscles in his belly rippling beautifully on the amber glow of the fire. “I _can_ \-- You aren't-”

“Look at this.” Jaskier is careful to not pay Yennefer any mind as she moves closer for a better look, settling against his back hands on _his_ shoulders now. Geralt's eyes roll back at the sight and his breathing is cut short, frantic. “You can't even _speak_. Maybe I should gag you and be _done_ with you.”

“No! _Please_ I'm-”

“What good is this if you can't be good for me darling? You were doing so well...”

“ _I can be good!_ ” The tears are back in force now, and Jaskier is pretty sure he hasn't been this hard in at least a year from how much his cock _pulses_.

“Then _come_ , pet.” Geralt wails, quivers like the silks of a noble's dress and stills, body twitching with every small movement of Jaskier foot. He hangs his head again, and Jaskier allows it if only to steal a glance at the witch, sweat hidden in her hair line and near the edges of the dress. It isn't a difficult choice to make just then.

“We'll leave the bed for another time.” He says, darkly. She turns her head to look at him but his eyes are forwards and glued to the picture Geralt cuts as if he would _die_ if he looked away. She nods as an afterthought. He drags his other foot up to Geralt's chest and shoves _hard_ , making the man stumble backwards into the decorated blue carpet. Having no actual bonds on his hands Geralt doesn't hurt himself on the landing, and the only move he dares is to part his knees.

Jaskier follows him down, focused and _hungry_ , pulling the pants off the witcher without bothering to unlace them and leaving lovely red streaks on the skin below it. Geralt writhes where he is, hands gripping the ground as if it alone was keeping him present.

“Right now, the rug does just fine.”


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm back after a lifetime.  
> At least this is the last chapter? Sorry for the wait guys, I had a hate relationship with my ongoing fics. It passed and now I'm trying my best to finish them. I might come back and change the very end of this, but that's just maybe. It's been a ride, my dudes  
> TW: Some foul language and kind of humiliating treatment and the use of "bitch". Idk how to warn about these things, but I figured I should try.  
> Not beta read; sorry if anything passed by my adhd cursed brain

There is a strange quality to the air when Jaskier is on stage. 

He doesn't know how to really describe it other than say it's some type of magic. The air gets thick but _sharp_ , makes him feel sluggish but _charged_ as if he has lightning running in his veins and taking place of his bones. 

Sex isn't that different, except the electricity in his body is joined by something else, something _other_ he never quite understood what it is but it's a feeling so alluring, so _inviting_ that he chases it like an adrenaline junkie chases a high. 

Sex _while_ performing makes his head turn sideways as if he drank ten bottles of the cheapest and most foul wine he could find; he feels hyper-aware of the damp hair he is gripping in one hand, of Yennefer's warmth next to his hip, of Geralt's stuttering breaths and flushed face, but weighty and numb at the same time. Relaxed, as if he is going to fall asleep but burning from the inside from the power high he feels.

And what a power it is, to hold Yennefer's wild gaze in one hand and Geralt's desperation to please in the other. How drugged he feels when time seems to slow and everyone waits for _his_ next move, _his_ next order. 

“I want you right here, on the ground.” He whispers, voice raspy from his dry mouth, “And you won't stop me, will you pet?” Geralt's head shake is hindered by the toned hand keeping him pinned and his entire body makes an aborted move upwards where Jaskier keeps just out of reach, “ _Answer me._ ”

“Never. Anything you want, _everything,_ just _please_ -”

“Such good manners you have.” He lets go of the grip on the hair to grasp the ring at the front of the collar, tugging just enough to make Geralt arch beautifully off the floor. “I'm almost tempted to go easy on you this time.” He barely finished speaking when Geralt breathes out, alarmed, 

“ _Please don't_.”

Now, on any other night, any other scene, he would have done something about being interrupted. Right now he can't for the life of him remember why that is something he should worry about. 

Jaskier chances a glance to the side, to Yennefer, and eyes the strip of silk holding her dress closed. Wordlessly, he reaches for her and tugs at the end he can reach. He looks back at the witcher with a wicked grin, because he knows he enticed the witch enough for her to go along with just about _anything_ he comes up with. 

Doesn't take long at all for him to feel the tension on the cloth to slip away. Yennefer's legs press against his right, firm and insistent. 

His head feels decidedly light as he quickly loops a knot on the silver ring, rising and tugging Geralt to sit by the leash.

“There is a vial in my pocket,” Jaskier starts. Geralt doesn’t need any more encouragement to reach inside both his front pockets with hands the bard is pretty sure that are shaking. With a fond smile, he leans to the side, on the tan legs of the witch next to him and gives the leash a bit of slack. “Get yourself ready. Put on a show for us.”

“A true performer.” Yennefer snickers at him. Jaskier turns his winning smile on her, hands twitching.

“You did ask.” She looks very close to _something_ for a second; mouth parted and soft and pink and _unbearably_ close.

“I did, didn't I?” 

The bard refuses to look away from her as he loops the silk once on his forearm. “Get to it, pet.” Geralt scrambles to kneel, facing away from them. As he struggles with getting the glass open, Jaskier does something that might as well be his death sentence.

He leans forwards and kisses Yennefer square on the mouth, his unoccupied hand gripping her _very_ naked thigh. 

He hears his heartbeat rushing by his ears and his skin seeming to roll with waves and waves of liquid heat. A second that feels like the years he spend studying country politics passes. 

Yennefer kisses him back just as firmly.

He hears a muffled, strangled, moan to the side and he sees fireworks behind his eyelids. He pushes forwards with more intent but is forced back by Yennefer pulling him by the hair, almost scuffing like you might an ill-behaved kitten. The submissive position has no business feeling as good as it does.

“ _Finally_.”

He might not ever talk back so openly with her on any other occasion, but Jaskier is feeling rather bold and cocky right about now, “You know, you could have done something sooner.” 

Yennefer smile is downright _filthy._

“Where is the fun in that?” Well, there is that. He can see the appeal of it for her especially since he, himself likes to make Geralt squirm with want he doesn't act on so often. “Besides, now is just perfect.” She tilts her head to the heap Geralt made himself into on the floor, hips high but shoulders dropped to the ground, head twisted in a weird angle to watch them. His eyes are black, as black as they get without potions and his focus doesn't waver even though his fingers are still working dutifully on opening himself, gaze trained on their faces. Jaskier takes the chance and turns to kiss Yennefer again just because he can, keeping his eyes open glued to the side and hazily he notes the witch doing the same.

The moan that echoes around the room is desperate and loud and _gorgeous_ and swallows Jaskier's own like it's not even there. 

He breaks apart and is already moving away when he thinks to push just one last time, “You sure you just want to watch?” 

Yennefer leans back, crossing her legs but pushing her chest up like she is _posing_ , damn her. “ _Wreck him._ ”

And yeah, _okay_ , his self-control has suffered enough for one evening. 

Looking back down almost makes him come right there, the angrily red welt marks puffing up already framing perfectly Geralt's dripping hole. His chest is still pressed low giving his spine a sinuous curve between his flexed shoulder blades, muscles popping and moving with his irregular breathing like a living painting. Jaskier's hands find the witcher's hips to dig in the marks with his thumbs just to hear the little whimpers Geralt is always so free with when he gets like this.

“You are very eager, aren't you? Presenting so prettily for me, _begging to be mounted_.” He is still whispering because he knows Geralt can hear him just fine, because he knows that for some reason the man loves his voice gone rough and scratchy and _private_. He pulls on the leash suddenly enough to make the collar turn to have the ring at the back of Geralt's neck and make the man open his mouth on a moan that can't get out. 

“This is what you want?” Jaskier uses the leash to pull the witcher flush against his still clothed cock, rolling his hips a few times just to tease with the rough texture of his trousers. Geralt is still breathing with the smallest of inhales, but Jaskier has tested _extensively_ just how long Geralt can go without air before it hurts in a bad way. “Ask me and I'll give it to you.” And then just because he feels especially on edge, just because he is _allowed_ , _begged_ to, really, “Ask me, _bitch_.” He punctuates with a harsh slap overlapping a very tender-looking bruise on the witcher's left ass cheek.

“ _Fuck me!_ Fuck me, please, please, _plea-_ ” His words are cut off as Jaskier pulls tighter on the leash for just enough to get his weeping, painfully hard cock out his breeches and press it against the sloppily wet hole in front of him. When he relaxed the hold on the silk, Geralt keeps begging like he hasn't stopped.

“Look at you, gone all stupid.” He says meanly but his words lack any bite he tries to force into it. Geralt seems too far gone to notice anything but the cock on his ass so it isn't a problem that Jaskier can only manage horny fondness. “I'll take care of you, _shhh_ ”

Every time they do it like this Jaskier feels a strange thrill that isn't all in the good side at the very first push, the moment just before he goes past any resistance and breaks the man open. He always thinks this is the time he will manage to hurt Geralt, this vulnerable and fragile being that should be kept always safe and pampered. But at this point even though he feels the fear trickling the back of his head, he knows better than to stop and go slow. Geralt is riding a different high form his own and he doesn’t want to snatch him out of it if he doesn't have to.

With as much experience as they have on this dance, he _doesn’t_ need to. Jaskier snaps his hips forwards in one strong thrust and doesn't give the witcher any time to adjust before pulling back and snapping back in. Geralt whimpers again, choked and strangled and just the knowledge that Geralt would be screaming if he let the leash slack even a little bit is enough to make Jaskier see tiny coloured specks on the sides of his vision.

“Just what you needed, huh? A good fucking to loosen you up like a cheap _Novigrad whore._ ”

“-s. _Yes_ , ye-” He clenches his hole so tightly Jaskier sees all the centurion constellations he memorized for classes years and years ago. His entire skin is raised with goosebumps and his nipples _hurt_ from rubbing against his thicker chemise. It's _wonderful._

“You open so sweetly for me, pet. So _tight_ still, as if I haven’t taken you so many times already.” There is some part of his left leg starting to cramp up but Jaskier isn't going to be separated from this blissful heaven by such a stupid thing. He slams his hips forwards harder and faster and he knows he can't keep his pace up for long _at all_ but its all worth it to hear the scream that flies past even Geralt's lack of proper air. 

He loosens the leash just a smidgen because he wants to hear what this one will be like, pushing his hand into the witcher's hair again and digging his nails into the already abused ass with vicious satisfaction, leaning to drape himself across Geralt's back to reach his shoulders and bite down with no mercy.

“ _ask-r, I'm_ -” He doesn't care what Geralt is begging now, he is too close to register much of anything so he only uses one of his knees to knock the witcher's even wider on the rug, leaving him without enough purchase to do anything but be speared open and _take it_. 

“I want you to wake up the entire forest, do you hear me?” The bard pants, eyes almost crossing, “I want everyone to hear and to know how _claimed_ the White Wolf really is. _Do you hear me?”_

“Yes, yes!” 

“ _Louder._ ”

“Yes, damn it, _YES_.” Jaskier rises again for better leverage and on his simple adjustment he sees, as if by accident, just what was engraved into the rich leather of the collar.

_Owned – Y &J _

Jaskier comes so quickly it leaves him unbalanced, falling forwards like a teenager, and he goes even more into overwhelmed mush when Geralt follows him and howls with the loudest wail the bard ever heard any sort of human being make. His ears ring from it, his perception of space stays tilted even as he forces himself to kneel again and take the leash from the collar. He doesn't manage much more with his arms like jelly and Geralt still splayed like a contortionist bellow him.

Yennefer appears on his side a second later, damp cloth in one hand and a heavy blanket in the other. Their eyes meet for just a second, just quick enough for Jaskier to make sure his thanks are passed over clearly.

He feels like much more is understood by that one look.

But more than that he knows, has absolute _certainty_ that this won't be the last time it happens.


End file.
